One of Life's Little Mysteries
by Gambit Gordon
Summary: [Nero Wolfe] One day, Archie reports to work as usual, but boy, is he in for a surprise...you might even say, a mystery.


I spent a while lying in my bed on the morning of my birthday, savoring the calm and fact that I could actually sleep in for once. _Nothing quite like this,_ I thought. I lay like that, as still as though I were snoozing—I wasn't but, it sure felt like it—for quite a while. Eventually, a quick look at the clock told me it was about time to get up.

After getting morning trivialities out of the way, I left my room. As I walked toward the orchid room, I had the sense—it comes from being a private detective's right-hand man, I guess—that something was different, not right somehow.

I entered the orchid room with a distinct sense of unease. The only person in sight was Theodore, who was tending to the flowers. _All right, why is Wolfe not here? It is past nine, right?_ No, it had to be—I remembered looking at my clock this morning.

I walked over to Theodore, watching as he watered an orchid. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "Nine fifteen."

He didn't appear to have noticed anything. _He's doing it on purpose—why? Seriously, why isn't Wolfe here?_ I considered for a bit."Where's Mr. Wolfe?" I said, deciding to go with my gut.

"He's reading." Theodore looked up at me briefly as he watered another orchid, but neither his eyes nor his expression gave anything away.

"Why now?"

Theodore shrugged and went back to his work; I knew he didn't want me there.

 _Yeah, they're both up to something,_ I thought.

* * *

Wolfe was reading when I came in, brow furrowed. I crossed my arms as I watched him, but he didn't respond. "Why aren't you with your orchids now?"

"I told Theodore to take care of them today," he replied, barely looking up from the book— _Lost Castaway_ , by Earl Beardsley.

 _Why…?_ "Really now?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Yes." He scowled and went back to reading.

I took a few seconds to think. "Did anyone make an appointment while I was asleep?"

"No. There are no appointments scheduled until Thursday, Archie." His voice wasn't very loud—contained, even. _On the other hand, though, there's no reason why it wouldn't be._

I wondered briefly if I was overreacting, then pushed the thought out of my mind. _This is Wolfe, after all._ _He must have a reason for breaking routine. He's just got to._ "And the last case was already solved," I went on, knowing he wouldn't fall for the bait.

"Yes." He looked up at me, folding the corner of the page. "We've both received our salary for Mr. Hewent's case."

"I know. And so have Theodore and Fritz." I thought it over for a few seconds—should I just come plain out and ask Wolfe what was going on? That was the simple solution, but I had the feeling he wouldn't give me the answer. "Are you going to go to your orchids tonight, then?"

"Perhaps."

I looked at him—his head was in the book again, his eyes swiftly taking everything in. Just what was he up to? What could make him blatantly ignore his schedule? "Very well," I replied, deciding that I'd better leave it at that for now. "I'm going out, then. Lily and I are going out later today."

He grunted.

"Goodbye." And I left, glancing at Wolfe as I closed the door.

* * *

I walked around the city for a while, looking for a place where I could sit for a while and have a bite to eat. It wasn't a tough decision—my stomach's rumbling prompted me to find the first place I could, and, luckily for me, New York was full of them. I chose a café about a half hours' walk from the brownstone and, mentally bidding my stomach to stop grumbling, crossed the street.

It was bustling at this time of day. I searched for a seat, keeping my eyes around the crowd around me. A few people were sitting down, but, for the most part, they were buying drinks as fast as they could—they needed to eat before work, probably.

I took a seat far away from the counter, where the smell of coffee wasn't as strong. After ordering a coffee and two bagels, I stared at my notepad. _What could Wolfe be hiding?_ I thought, slipping my pencil out of my breast pocket. I began scribbling how Wolfe had been acting earlier today—not spending time with his orchids even though at that point it'd been well past nine o'clock; making even less eye contact than usual; and not having decided if he'd go spend his scheduled time with the orchids this evening. It was madness—outright madness.

 _But this is Wolfe. He's not mad—or senile, for that matter._ I smiled slightly, staring at my notepad. _He's most probably doing it on purpose._ I would have resumed writing had not been the voice a woman rather close to me.

I looked up; it was the waitress again, this time burdened with a plate. "Here you go, sir," she said, handing it to me. "Would you like some milk?" She lifted the pitcher.

"No, thank you."

"That'll be a dollar." She took the money in one hand the pitcher in the other.

"Thanks." Once I was sure she'd left, I started to eat, looking at my notebook. Nothing jumped out at me—it looked the same as it had about a minute ago. I sipped my coffee, scowling at the scalding drink—honestly, couldn't she have just waited before bringing it to me?—as I stared at the paper.

I took another bite of bagel. I was a detective, after all. (Or, more precisely, Wolfe was the detective and I was his observant right-hand man who went about collecting clues and noticing things that he wouldn't have even if he'd managed to get out his chair and onto the scene of the crime. Close enough, at any rate.) Time to find some answers. I'd give it—I checked my watch—I'd give it a half hour, and, if I hadn't figured anything out by then, I'd leave.

One hour later, I was done. On the other hand, I only had a few hypotheses, most of which were implausible and all of which weren't the answer I'd been looking for.

1) Wolfe's mental capacities were slowly degenerating; he was no longer able to go follow his routine. This wasn't it—taking into account the way he'd been avoiding my eyes, Wolfe had been deliberate. Granted, I may have been seeing things that weren't there, but, you had to admit there'd been evidence. He'd been doing it on purpose. Besides, nothing had happened in the past few weeks that would have—ah—lowered his brain capacity. Trust me, I would have noticed.

2) Wolfe had decided to abandon his schedule, maybe because he'd been feeling hassled lately. But that was almost as unlikely as my first hypothesis. First of all, Wolfe lived off his reliable old routine and had no reason to give up on it—nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Secondly, if he were feeling more dissatisfied than usual, his anger would have shown (and quite possibly—no, probably—have been directed at me). Thirdly, he probably would have forced himself through it and went on with his day as always.

3) Wolfe was feeling weak and couldn't get out of his chair, or perhaps he was too heavy to get himself out of it. That wasn't it, either—he hadn't seemed weak these past few days, and his diet hadn't altered any. On the other hand, if he hadn't been feeling well, I might not have noticed—Wolfe could hide things well when he wanted to, and I hadn't been watching him meticulously. If it was something drastic that he'd just discovered this morning, I'd have known, obviously.

4) Wolfe was trying to hide something from me. This seemed the most reasonable to me, though still unlikely; he'd hid his adopted daughter from me, after all, and the way she'd never been mentioned before that particular case had shown up suggested that he may have forgotten about her existence. I didn't really think it was that—Wolfe was one of those people who never forgot anything on purpose—

5) Something important was supposed to happen today and I'd forgotten about it. While that made sense, it wasn't the answer I was searching for—he would have been grumpy about it. Not counting the fact that if he told me recently enough I wouldn't have forgotten about it.

So that was pretty much it: five reasons as to why Wolfe could be acting the way he had, and none of them useful. I growled, closing the notebook and replacing it in my pocket. "About a half an hour of work and nothing's been solved," I muttered.

"You mean like this tab?" came a voice.

I glanced up, cursing inwardly. The waitress was standing in front of me, a frown on her face as she handed me a piece of paper. "You asked for seven coffees after the first one, buster. It's about time you paid up."

* * *

"Good afternoon, Archie."

"Afternoon," I greeted as I came in, closing the door behind me. Wolfe was seated at his desk, reading _Lost Castaway_ again. "Did you spend the time I was gone reading?"

He looked up from the book, dog-earing the page again, a puzzled expression on his face. "Of course not. I had to drink." He gestured to his beer.

I watched him as I made my way out of the room—he looked the same as always: the ubiquitous mug of beer beside him, his dark eyes moving quickly down the page, his expression one of absolute focus. I squinted, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

In my room, I decided that if Wolfe intended for me to find out the reason why he'd been acting the way he had been, I'd find out soon enough. (Or at least would eventually.) I headed over to my desk and began to empty it—the drawers were filled with paper, pencils, bits and pieces, odds and ends. For the moment, with nothing important to do, I might as well organize my things, I reasoned. I looked at my watch before I started working—it wasn't even lunchtime yet; there was plenty of time before Lily and I were scheduled to go dancing. I focused my eyes, hand and mind on the task, and began, simultaneously concentrating on my work and Wolfe downstairs; if he wanted to head to the plant rooms, I'd hear him.

I was almost done—a glance at my watch told me it had taken around an hour and a half, which annoyed me—when I heard a voice calling me. It was noon; Wolfe had no real reason to call me down now, did he?

 _Well, he does have some explaining to do,_ I thought with as I followed the voice. He had stopped reading now ( _Took long enough_ ); the book was nowhere in sight. He wasn't alone, either; I was surprised to see that both Fritz and Theodore had joined him, standing at either side of his desk. Theodore was holding a box, which I eyed suspiciously before flicking my eyes back to Wolfe.

"What day is it, Archie?" he asked.

I forced myself to keep my eyebrows down as I answered him. "Tuesday, October 23rd, 1954."

"And is this day of any significant importance to you?"

"It's my birthday," I said, frowning. "That's it."

He nodded, his head dipping for what couldn't have been more than a quarter of an inch. "After some consideration and some discussion with Fritz and Theodore, I decided to buy you a gift."

"I—" I cut myself off this time, unable to stop my eyes from widening. "Are you serious?" I asked finally.

"Yes. Here you go." He accepted the box from Theodore and handed it to me. "I hope you enjoy it."

After a quick once-over—it was an unremarkable black prism whose logo read 'Bulova'—I opened it. A fine silver watch with a glinting face had been carefully packed within. I took it gingerly in my hands and examined it more closely—it was of fine make with a well-cut strap.

I looked up as I put it on, smiling. "Thank you."

Wolfe smiled back, reminding me that the last time I'd seen that had been quite a while ago. "Happy birthday, Archie," he said.

"Thanks a lot," I said, still grinning. "I won't forget this."

I left, thinking about the mystery that had just been solved. Another one was left, though—why had Wolfe decided to get me a present for the first time in, well, ever?

I smiled as I started down the street. It didn't matter. Some mysteries were better left unsolved, after all.

* * *

 **IIRC I wrote this fanfic around 2007 or 2008. It's my first (but hopefully not only!) Nero Wolfe fic. I hope you like it!**


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